


Its different, okay?

by peachpetrichor



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Baker Derek Hale, Basically they're both dicks until theyre not, Cliche, Derek is a dick, Firefighter Derek Hale, First Kiss, First Meetings, Laura lived, M/M, Meet-Cute, Stiles is a dick, Tropes, Unbeta'd, Writer Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6679246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpetrichor/pseuds/peachpetrichor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles asks a question online, and Derek answers (with the wrong answer), and they both proceed to be huge dicks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Its different, okay?

**Author's Note:**

> Someone draw me some fanart and I'll write a sequel.

Stiles let out an indignant huff.

He'd been staring at two of his mother's yellowing recipe cards for the last twenty five minutes, the loopy cursive practically mocking him as he compared between them for subtle differences. 

They were some of his favorites from his childhood. Anytime the bananas on the top of the fridge ended up mushy and black, inedible as they were, she would swoop in and whip up a sticky sweet batch of banana nut cupcakes, or a loaf of banana nut bread. His young self had practically lived for those treats. Sometimes he would avoid eating bananas all together just so they would go bad and she would make them.

So he had been delighted, you can imagine, to find their recipes stuffed into a dusty little cigar box among the Christmas decorations in his dad's attic. He'd immediately made plans to make both recipes, compare and contrast their flavors and textures, live up the nostalgia of his childhood, on not one but two separate occasions.

The Problem?

They were the same fucking recipe. 

Written on two separate cards, in the same neat handwriting, in the same blue ink. The only difference he could find was that one was called 'Banana nut Bread' and the other was called 'Banana nut cupcakes.'

So what the hell was the difference between banana bread and banana cake? Were they actually the same? Was his entire childhood a lie?

They couldn't be, there had to be a mistake. There must have been some magic ingredient that she never wrote down on one of them, the thing that made them so different.

Because they were different. He remembered always being on the edge of his seat when she was baking. Would he get cupcakes that day or bread? There was no way the only difference between the two were the shapes they were baked in.

And it was going to kill him unless he figured out what that magic ingredient was, so he took to the world wide web, like he always did in times of crisis, and spent the next two hours looking at recipes for banana cake and banana bread. None of them were close enough to his mothers recipes that he felt he could trust the differences. This led him, of course ,to a Q&A forum for amateur chefs.

He didn't really feel like waiting for an answer, but he couldn't just sit there in longing without one, so he posted a question to 'Seasoned Advice' under the baking section that read: "What is the difference between Banana Bread and Banana Cake?", and then he leaned back into his chair to chew on his nails and refresh the page every five minutes. 

 

Derek slid the mound of cranberry dark chocolate bread dough into his oven and set the timer for forty-five minutes.

This was a new recipe he was trying out for the coffee shop, and despite Laura's insistence that nobody like cranberries in their baked good, he was dead set on this being one of their best sellers. It was after all, based on the bread his mother used to bring back with her from her trips to new york. The same bread she'd share with him and no one else. The bread they used to eat over old movies on the couch when no one else was home. 

Their bread.  
Or, now he supposed, his bread.

The bakery in New York she bought it from closed a few years before she died, which left Derek with no choice but to figure out the recipe himself. He was pretty sure he had it right this time.

He settled back onto his couch with his laptop, opening back up to the post he'd made on 'Seasoned Advice' asking about what kind of cranberries were best for baking. He'd gotten a few answers, which sparked a few discussions, and ended up using halved fresh berries instead of whole dry ones and adjusting the amount of sugar he used.

He frequented this site more often than he would probably admit. It wasn't like he really considered himself an amateur chef (he co-owned a damn café after all), but the people who used it were just so helpful. And nice. And they couldn't see his resting bitch face or hear the glare in his voice, so they never ran for the hills when he talked to them.

He spent the better part of the forty-five minutes he had to wait answering questions. 

He got to one, posted by someone named 'Little_Red', about banana bread, and ended up writing a fucking essay on the history of baking in America which ended in: so there's not really a difference. 

He probably sounded like a snob but he posted the answer anyway. 

Its not like it was a very good question anyway. A quick google search would show you that the recipes for both were always pretty much the same. 

He was about to get up, check on his bread, when a notification popped up that someone had sent him a message.

Little_Red: they can;t be the fucking same why would you write all that just to tell me theyre the same  
Derek squinted at the message half in shock and half in annoyance. He'd spent fifteen minutes writing that response and this illiterate fucker was questioning him?  
DHale: Because they are the same. Its only called bread because its in the shape of a loaf.  
Little_Red: no thats stupid  
Little_Red: i bet you dont even actually know  
Derek practically growled at the screen. Who the hell was this guy? Did he not know you were supposed to be nice on this stupid website? Everyone was nice on there! Even him!  
DHale: I gave you plenty of explanation of this, if you actually read my answer.  
Little_Red: im not reading that whole fucking novel for the wrong answer  
DHale: If you're so fucking knowledgeable about the differences then, please, enlighten me.   
Little_Red: i don’t fucking know why the hell would i ask if i knew  
DHale: Obviously, Jackass. It’s the same fucking thing! . . .There's no difference between Banana Bread and Cake!  
Little_Red: nice ellipses there grandpa   
Little_Red: whatever that/s bullshit ill wait for someone who knows what theyre even talking about to answer me  
DHale: You're not going to get a different answer, asshole, there is no other answer.  
Little_Red: who the fuck made you the king of baked goods  
DHale: Probably the same idiot who gave internet access to twelve year olds like you.  
Little_Red: EXCUSE YOU I AM AN ADULT  
DHale: Adults finish their sentences with a period.  
Little_Red: pretty sure you misspelled 'old farts' dude  
DHale: Don't call me dude, brat.  
Little_Red: fuck you  
DHale: No, fuck you.

Derek huffed and slammed the hood of his laptop down. He was just about ready to pull his hair out over this brat, and he probably would have to if the timer for his bread didn't go off. 

The bread was delicious. Perfect. He was going to make Laura put it on the menu immediately. It almost made putting up with that heinous conversation during the wait worth it.

Almost.

 

Stiles waited three days for another response in the forum, but none came. Apparently the community thought 'DHale' was right enough about what he had said that no one else had to chime in. Which was bullshit, because DHale was a DBag. 

And, okay. Okay. Maybe he'd been an asshole first, but could you blame him? Who writes a six hundred word response to something just to end it with 'there is no difference'. 

And he'd read the whole thing. Boy howdy had he. He'd read it so many times by now he was practically convinced he'd found Jackson's snobby biological father. Who else but a fifty year old child abandoner with the same piece-of-shit genes as Jackson would write a response like that? Who?

And at least Jackson could be kind of sweet sometimes, when you put him in the right environment. Stiles would bet money that there was nothing about this DHale that was even moderately pleasant.

He was going to let it go too, really he was, but then he'd gone and found another recipe card of his Mom's titled "Cream Cheese Frosting for Banana Cupcakes", and realized what an idiot he was.

Of course.

They had frosting on them , that's why he liked them so much. He was a sucker for frosting. 

So he felt, admittedly, sort of really stupid, but at least he could shove it DHale's dumb metaphorical face in triumph. There WAS a difference between cake a bread. Frosting!

 

Little_Red: FROSTING MOTHERFUCKER   
Little_Red: theres a differnce!  
Little_Red: you dont put frosting on fucking bread

Derek stared at his screen. He'd nearly forgotten about Little Red, the little shit, and now here he was again spouting unnecessary nonsense.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd promised Laura to act like an adult from now on, but not before she'd laughed at him for a good ten minutes after he complained. And he especially couldn't be doing this in the middle of his shift at the fire station. 

DHale: You could, conceivably, put frosting on regular bread, but that wouldn't make it a cake.

There. That was professional. That was adult-ish. That was appropriate for a work environment.

Little_Red: UGH SHUT UP  
Littile_Red: i fucking dare you to do that  
Little_Red: go put frosting on a slice of bread like a douche bag and prove your point

To his credit, Derek Resisted doing this for all of two minutes. It was admirable really. The white bread and canned frosting he knew they had in the station kitchen were practically begging him, afterall.

 

Stiles nearly fell out of his chair.

Not only had this fucker done it, he'd sent pictures. One of the bread, one of the frosting on the bread, and a picture of him having taken a bite out of the bread.  
That was all kind of funny, actually, and Stiles would have kept on berating the poor guy just for the sake of entertainment if it hadn't been for that last picture. His fucking face. 

Adonis. That's who he'd been talking to, insulting, arguing with. 

He had literally never seen a man so beautiful in his entire life. Perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect stubble, and those eyes. What color were they even? Blue? Green? Hazel was not a satisfying enough answer. And don't even get him started on that jawline (which could totally cut diamonds), or his broad muscular shoulders that just barely made it into the picture.

He wanted to rub his face all over this guys face.  
Was that a thing? Was that a kink? He hoped it wasn't.  
And what the hell was he supposed to say now?

"Flirt, Stiles. Flirt. You can do this," he mumbled to himself.

Little_Red: im surprised you managed to figure out how to use a butter knife considering how stupid you are when it comes to food

He slammed his face into his hand. 

 

Derek fumed. He'd immediately regretted sending those pictures, especially the one of his face, but now he didn't give a shit. He was going to find this child of a man and punch him in his banana bread eating face.

DHale: I'm a professional fucking baker, I'm pretty sure I know a little more about food than you do.  
DHale: What do you do for a living? Deliver Pizzas?  
Little_Red: im a writer jackass  
Little_Red: and no way youre a baker you look like you kick children for a living

Derek guffawed. He was a baker and a volunteer fire-fighter for fuck's sake. He pretty much saved children for a living. Saved them from shitty food and smoke inhalation. 

DHale: I co-own my own café. And seriously, you're questioning me? You can't even use an apostrophe, what the hell do you write? Pen-pal letters to six year olds?

 

Stiles would have responded, really he would have, but other than the fact that he was digging himself into a hole, and ruining any chance he might have had a flirting with this guy, his apartment was on fire. 

His apartment was on fire.

His apartment. On Fire.

"Eep!" He squealed, in a totally manly and justified way, before making a mad dash to grab his mother's recipe box and get the fuck out.

How the hell hadn't he noticed his banana cupcakes burning in the oven this whole time? There was smoke everywhere. 

Stiles was totally going to blame Adonis for this bullshit if his laptop survived.

He resisted the urge to thump his head on the sidewalk while he waited for the fire department to show up along side his angry and glaring neighbors. 

He was pretty sure he'd gotten out five minutes after everyone else, probably sat in the smoke for that long, too absorbed in his conversation to notice he was almost suffocating, with the music to loud in his headphones to notice the fire-alarm going off. He'd been pretty much coughing non-stop since he's got outside, and his eyes were scratchy and bleary.  
Seriously how had he not noticed this? 

He was going to have to get his doctor to up his Adderall or something. 

The Fire Department showed up maybe two or three minutes later along with an ambulance. Luckily, Stiles didn't think the fire had gotten out of his kitchen. It'd been mostly smoke when he left, barely even a little flame that he could see, so at least he wouldn't have to deal with being responsible for other people's lost possessions. 

It was over in ten whole minutes, and while no one could go inside until the smoke was cleared, his neighbors cheered when it was announced that the fire was out.   
He was then directed to the ambulance by a shockingly gorgeous blonde with lips redder than her fire truck, when she noticed him coughing. Although, he wouldn't say he was directed so much as he was dragged.  
He followed sheepishly after her, making hoarse apologies the entire way there. This whole thing was kind of his fault after all.

"Don't worry about it right now," she purred. "We need to get some oxygen into you before you make things worse for yourself." She winked at him when he sat down and then called, "Derek! Come help this kid!"

"Excuse you, I am an adult," he wheezed. She only snorted in response and wandered off.

But then 'Derek' was there, putting an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, and-

"Holy Shit!"

Adonis. 

 

Derek quirked an eyebrow at the boy in front of him. He was kind of cute for someone suffering from smoke inhalation. All pretty pale skin and moles and honey colored eyes, with a little turned up nose and soft looking lips. He was definitely Derek's type, except for the whole starting a fire in his apartment thing.

And boy had his neighbors been quick to point him out as the person at fault. And Derek hadn't even asked yet.

"Just take some nice deep breaths, sir."

"You're the, the- you're the guy, the guy, you're-"

"Breathe. Please." What guy?

"The guy!"

"Sir, I need you to calm down and-"

"You're the fucking banana cake is the same thing as banana bread guy!"

What.

Derek froze, and then glared. "You." He did not growl, but it was a close thing.

The boy, or 'Little Red' he supposed, shrank visually. "Uh," he said.

Derek glared harder.

"Uh, nice to meet you in person?"

 

Stiles took a few deep breaths through the oxygen mask while Derek stared him down. He hadn't even considered that they might live in the same state, let alone the same city, and yet, here he was. Standing in front of him. Looking angry.

And hot as burning, Jesus Christ.

That photo had not done him justice. Up close and in person Derek was obviously sculpted by skilled artists from marble. There was just not other explanation for his perfect body, and long eye lashes, and delicious cheekbones, human beings were not allowed to be this attractive, okay? Okay.

"Hey! You said you were a baker!" He said suddenly. Of course he did. Who taught him words? And why?

"I. Am." Derek grit out. "I'm also a volunteer firefighter."

"Oh," Stiles said and he winced. He'd told this guy he thought he kicked children for a living and he was a firefighter? A firefighter and a baker?

Damn. Get him a man who could do both.

"So um. I burnt the banana cupcakes I was trying to make," he said, because why not?

"Oh you don't say."

"Yeah, uh, this hot guy was talking to me online, and I was doing a really bad job at flirting, and so I was distracted. Really, really distracted."

Derek rolled his eyes. "I really don't give a shit about who you were talking to."

"What! At least take some responsibility!"

"Excuse me?"

"You can't just send me a picture of your hot self and expect me not to get distracted and burn my apartment down!"

“How are you stupid enough to- wait, what?”

“What?”

Stiles stared. Derek stared back. Stared back with his pretty eyes. Almost pretty enough to distract him for the flush he felt spreading on his cheeks.

 

Little Red was pretty when he blushed. Which was a pretty ridiculous thought to have about a person he’d been pretty sure was the most immature human being he’d ever met all of ten seconds ago. Also l, he didn’t even know his actual name, which was also ridiculous.

“Insulting me, is what you call flirting?”

“Can we just pretend I don’t exist and this never happened.

Derek grinned with all of his teeth. “Oh no. You think I’m hot. You have berated me on two sperate occasions now about fucking banana bread. And you think I’m hot.”

He watched the guy shrink further into his own embarrassment and almost felt bad. 

“And, you burned your apartment down, and you can’t bake, and you’re a huge brat-“

“Hey! I can bake!”

“Oh yeah?” he looked at the recently-on-fire apartment building pointedly. 

“I fucked up once okay, I’m usually not that bad. And don’t be such a dick, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be an asshole, but they were my moms recipes and I remembered them being different some how, and. I just wanted to make it as good as she used to.”

Okay, now Derek did feel bad. “Used to?”

“Dead moms club, party of one,” he said, and Derek was pretty sure it was meant to sound snarky, but it just sounded sad. Fuck.

“Party of two.”

The boy looked up at him, with suddenly furrowed brows and he sighed.

“Yeah. Sorry. I was actually making her favorite bread the first time you messaged me, and I was in such a good mood, and you were so infuriating –“ he sighed again. “Sorry.”

“I guess we’re both huge dicks.”

 

Derek smiled softly at him, and oh could he get used to that. 

“What’s your name, pup?” 

“Stiles,” he said, and flushed again at the term of endearment. No one had ever called him ‘pup’ before. “And I really am an adult, I swear.”

Derek snorted. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

“Do you um. Do you want to get coffee sometime and debate baked goods like decent human beings?”

He couldn’t believe he still had the gull to ask him out, but opportunity only knocked once, he supposed.

Derek pursed his lips in, and then looked him over.  
“Yeah.”

Stiles practically jumped off of the ambulance, his eyes wide and excited. “Yeah?!”

Derek laughed and sat him back down. “Yeah, sure. Except, how about we go to my place and make that damn bread, or cake, or whatever instead?”

Stiles grinned and nodded.

And Derek, because he had zero self control, as proved by the frosting and bread from earlier, plucked the oxygen mask right off of Stiles’ face and kissed him, like that was socially acceptable or something. Stiles at least, was okay with it enough to return it with enthusiasm.

“It's really good banana bread,” he said, cheeks delightfully pink and eyes glazed over in happiness. 

And Yeah. Those annoying conversations Derek had to put up with? Totally worth it.

Laura was going to give him so much shit.


End file.
